


Falling Into It

by kirbapy



Category: Layton Kyouju Series | Professor Layton Series
Genre: (if you squint), Addiction, Angst, Ask if you need this tagged at all, Beta Read, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Self-Hatred, M/M, Marijuana, No Current Relationship, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, RanHen, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Underage Drug Use, Weed, pot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-21
Updated: 2020-02-21
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:15:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22827031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kirbapy/pseuds/kirbapy
Summary: Randall feels like a void, constantly falling apart, and God, he just wants to feel something besides whatever it is he feels now. So he turns to a less than wise option--Drug use.(PLEASE NOTE BEFORE READING:This fan-work contains attempted usage of marijuana as a form of self-harm. This is a serious work. It covers topics of drugs, self-harm, self-hatred, inadequacy, etc. If any of this is potentially triggering for you I urge you to not read or take precautions. Thank you for understanding!)
Relationships: Randall Ascot & Henry Ledore
Kudos: 7





	Falling Into It

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! Thank you so much for clicking on this to read. I like to joke about 'haha funny stoner Randall', but I struggle with wants and issues with addiction, so I'm writing this as an outlet to help me (and potentially) others cope with that. *This is a serious topic.* Underage drug use (and any drug use) is a SERIOUS issue. I do not condone underage drug use nor do I support it. If you are struggling with the urge to use, relapse, or anything else that is serious, PLEASE contact a professional. Reach out to your local hotlines whether it be for drug use or for crisis. Please heed any things that could be potentially triggering in this. However, please heed there could be inaccuracies with description--I've never actually seen up close pot usage in person so I don't know how it really goes about besides blunts and edibles, so please tell me if there are any inaccuracies! That being said, thank you so much for reading! If you have any concerns please reach out to me. Leaving a comment is very appreciated!

Randall twisted the blunt between his fingers like a pencil as his head lay resting like a dead man on the lacquer desk. Flick on, flick off—Randall couldn’t quite get himself to light the blunt that rested heavy like lead in between his fingers. Even if he couldn’t bring his hands to light it, Randall could feel the heat creep up the tips when he left the lighter on for a few moments too long; the searing pain worked its way up, so by the time you flicked it off, the pain peaked before burnishing out with a sear. It brought feeling to Randall’s skin repeatedly, but not enough to be permanent nor enough to bring a feeling outside of dread. Each time it lit and glowed in the darkness of the evening light of the room, still… It lit nothing in Randall’s heart.

He had passions. He loved archaeology. He was smart. He was exceptional at puzzles. But his father didn’t care, Hershel brushed him off. Angela entertained it, but she only saw the dread in his future. Henry was one of the only one who cared, who truly helped, but it didn’t give  _ enough  _ to Randall. His life was wonderful, he was well off, he had talents, well liked,  _ everything. _

__

A few days ago, Randall stayed just a few minutes after school, not out of the normal for him nor for most the students. But he asked for Hershel and Angela to leave early without him. Normally they’d argue, but Randall was insistent. Perhaps it was new archaeological discoveries, a new brilliant puzzle that Randall was making for them. Or maybe he just needed to retake a test with his math teacher.

After school, instead of walking home with Hershel and Angela, Randall went to the very back of the building, meeting with a student who he only recognized from passing in the halls. And after handing over a princely wad of money, Randall got a little baggie back with just what he ‘wanted.’ 

So now after all that, Randall had the baggie open on his desk, only one blunt taken out of it. (Though he wouldn’t want to admit it, Randall really didn’t know the first thing about any of this, so he asked for everything to be ‘pre-made’, though he was positive it just made him sound more stupid about all of this.)

Randall let out a coarse groan. What was he thinking, with all this? Was he stupid? He knew he wasn’t stupid.

But he felt stupid. Empty. Like a void. He couldn’t feel a single thing and he wanted to feel  _ anything _ besides this, even if it were a living hell to be in. Randall  _ craved _ addiction, he craved something to be attached to like glue to deal with everything and to ‘cope’, even though it really wasn’t coping if you were destroying yourself from the inside out.

It was all so stupid—Cope with what? Having a shitty father who made you feel like a shadow? Not being able to come to terms with your own feelings? He had  _ everything _ in life and Randall thought himself so entitled that he could just throw it all away in the blink of an eye.

But it wasn’t like you could get addicted to marijuana.

(That’s what everyone says at least, Randall chuckled.)

Earlier today, Randall was explicit in making sure no one was home—Mother and father were already out, one on business and the other with family. And this morning as they got ready for school, Randall scrawled out a note with a grocery list of stuff they certainly didn’t need and a puzzle, making sure to tell Henry to not return until all was done.

Even if it were for good reasons in Randall’s mind, he felt awful for telling Henry to go do stuff for him. Always being a stuck-up burden, forcing people to like him, forcing people to listen to his stupid rambling.

He tossed the lighter, letting it slide across the desk before clinking into the wall with a quiet thud. The worst that would happen with all this is he would have a bad first experience, but then again…

That wouldn’t be bad, not in Randall’s eyes.

So, it finally came time, down to the final decision. If he decided no, it would be like nothing ever happened.

But if he decided to go through, it could change everything.

With a struggled moan, Randall reached his arm out from his lazy position, grabbing the lighter again, half expecting it to still be hot to the touch. It wasn’t. Randall straightened out his back and sat up with a small stretch, his joints creaking and cracking as if he hadn’t moved in years. With a dull look in his usual glimmering eyes, Randall placed the blunt in between his creased lips and brought the lighter up to them, curling his hand around the flame.

“No risk, no glory,” Randall murmured through the blunt like it was a toothpick between his mouth.

Just as the flame barely singed the end of it, only marring it a slight tar black, Randall’s door creaked open.

“Master Randall,” Henry said as he was coming in, holding a shopping back in hand and eyeing a piece of paper. “I came to ask about the grocery list, but I’m afraid I can’t read all of it—”

Henry stopped as he began to finish his sentence when he finally looked up to see Randall looking back at him with eyes wide like a deer in the headlights. When the door had finished opening, the lighter slid out of Randall’s hand, the flame dying out as it fell to his desk.

“M-Master Randall?” Henry asked with trepidation.

“What… What are you doing?”

Randall felt panic quickly spike up in his chest. No, no,  _ no.  _ None of this was supposed to happen. Randall prayed that Henry didn’t see or hear the deafening drop of the lighter or what lay in his mouth. Quickly, Randall swiped at the blunt, trying to conceal it as quickly as he could, though the faint heat singed Randall’s palm with a wince.

“Master Randall…” Henry’s voice rang out again. It sounded like sirens to Randall’s senses, quickly growing from the numbness that racked his body to a bright incessant ringing. “I asked you what you were doing,” Henry said, his voice growing more urgent with each syllable that rolled off his tongue. “Did you not hear me?”

Randall turned away. He didn’t care. If Henry kept bothering him, he didn’t care. He wanted the attention. But at the same time, he  _ loathed  _ it. He had everything planned, made sure that tonight would work out just how he wanted, but in the end, he supposed it was all for naught. He didn’t care if everything became ruined and torn apart. At least it’d be better than this, letting his life crumble would be better than anything, he assured himself.

“It’s none of your business,” Randall retorted, though his voice held no patience or it’s usual playfulness. “So, go away, okay?”

Henry set his bag on the floor a little haphazardly, along with the scrawled-out list that Randall had given him from before. He flicked on the light hesitantly, and still, even with it on, Randall refused to let his eyes or face to meet with Henry’s.

“Randall.”

He winced at that—When Henry didn’t make use of such honorific prefixes, it made everything feel so much more… More serious. More intimate. Too intimate right now.

“What do you want Henry?” Randall bit down a growl. “I’m busy.”

“Master Hershel and Angela told me you didn’t walk home with them today,” Henry relayed. “Is that true?”

Randall glared, though he kept his eyes right at a point near Henry’s jawline.

“Yes,” Randall replied.

“Both of them told me you were staying after school. Is that also true?”

“Yes.”

“And we already have everything on this shopping list, don’t we? Is that true just like everything else?”

“… Yes.” 

With every word Henry spoke, Randall couldn’t conceive what his tone was. Was he mad? Was it fear that laced his voice like venom? Was it horror that pierced it like arrows? Perhaps Randall were reading into it all too much, Henry probably hadn’t even noticed, not with the lights off, not any of that… Right?

Henry stepped right up to him, each thudding of his foot nearly a stomp, yet each placement seemed so calculated, delicate—Graceful, even. As Henry got up to Randall, right up into his face, he pulled up Randall’s hand, his fingers easily wrapping around his wrist.  _ Woah _ , Randall noted.  _ Had Henry always had such a firm grip? _

It wasn’t till the spark of Henry’s touch on his skin that Randall finally managed to draw his eyes into Henry’s gaze. Fierce, sharp, conniving and clever… Yet worry laced every highlight that faceted them.

“Pardon my boldness, Master Randall, but do you mind telling me what the  _ hell _ is in your hand? And,” Henry continued, Randall feeling heat creep up his whole body like ivy in shame and embarrassment. “What the hell is in this—This little baggie??” Henry snarled, having picked up the bag of blunts to wave in Randall’s face before he even got the chance to notice. Quiet and discreet as ever, Henry was. Randall hadn’t even noticed that Henry held the hand he had (meekly) attempted to swipe away the blunt with, still sitting between his fingers incriminating.

_ Shit.  _ Before Randall could even think of an excuse, some lame excuse he had always come up with when he had found trouble had finally gotten to him, panic intoxicated his lungs and heart, his breathing becoming sharp and nearly forced. Randall attempted to squirm away out of Henry’s grip, but it held no purpose, its intensity easily matching the ferocious look that crossed Henry’s visage. Ringing began to fill up in Randall’s ears even more now like a raging flood, muddling Henry’s outside words to him that sounded like warbling from underwater. “Randall…” He heard his name mumbled. “Randall…” And he heard it again.

“Randall!” the voice shouted as crisp as an autumn leaf now, quickly shattering Randall’s ringing, just for a moment, his one free quick hand going to clutch his chest in fear.

When Randall’s eyes came back up to Henry’s, he finally noticed; they were shining in the gloss and shimmer of tears like morning dew that already spilled from Henry like a fountain. “I’m not…I’m not  _ stupid! _ ” Henry shouted with a sharp waver. “Have you already done it? Have you done too much? Have… Have you—” Henry hiccupped, unable to keep his voice speaking at a steady tone. The tears continued to stain Henry’s face, and with each sob, his fingers began to unfurl and release their iron strength from Randall’s wrist. Randall eagerly slipped his hand out at this opportunity, and he quickly noted the ring of red that now acted like an impermanent bracelet that marked his wrist. Randall took his own shaky deep breath, and he brought his hand back to Henry, placing it on his shoulder.

“Don’t… Don’t cry, Henry. Please don’t cry,” Randall said with a wince to his words. “I haven’t done anything yet, okay? I promise. It’s fine. Everything’s fine.” Henry’s face snarled slightly, only looking more indignated. “Everything is NOT fine!” Henry shouted. “You doing, trying to do drugs, whatever it is, is NOT fine! None of this is, Randall! Everything you have is perfect, you have so much, everything, so why would you ever even…” Henry’s voice trailed off with a slight sniffle, and he brought his sleeve up to wipe away his tears. “Ugh, I don’t know how I expect you to understand me through all this crying, forgive me, Master Randall.”

Randall couldn’t fish out words to say, but he tried to offer Henry the slightest smile. Yet part of Henry’s words… Stung. He was right, wasn’t he? He was so—So entitled, such a horrible, poisoned soul for believing he had it bad enough to try and ruin it all. Randall pulled his hand back away from Henry, using it to clutch his own arm as if a wound began to prick at it.

“You wouldn’t understand, Henry,” Randall said in a sharp mutter.

“Yes, I would,” Henry replied.

Randall tired of that—Everyone saying they understood, knew that they got it. But they  _ didn’t _ . They didn’t know a single God damned thing about him, not a single thing about how the gears in his mind turned or how the patchwork of his thoughts was sewn together. But God, still, Randall wanted someone to still get it all the same, to hold him close, to shut him down and solve whatever malfunction inside his brain off. Randall’s thoughts didn’t have too much time to keep spiraling until Henry let out a sigh filled with pain and wrapped his arms around Randall in a hug. It was odd, all of it; the hug was firm, intense, not dainty and hesitant like Henry often was. And at the sound of a slight crinkle, Henry pulled away and quickly plucked the blunt from Randall’s fingers.

“No matter what, and I swear to God as my witness, I will not let you go down this path. And if you did, mark my words, I will be there with you till the end of it.”

Before Randall’s eyes could flicker fast enough to watch the scene that played out in front of him, Henry dropped everything, the bag, blunts and all, on the floor, quickly stomping on it and twisting his shoe on it until the forms were as disheveled as could be. Quickly picking it back up, Henry held it away from Randall. “You aren’t having any of this,” Henry quipped. “It’s probably still usable, but I won’t let you have it back.”

Randall’s throat was dry.

“Now,” Henry said, clearing any last hint of tears or sorrow that built up in his throat out.

“You’re going to tell me everything, Master Randall. It’s my duty to look out for you as a servant and… Because you’re my best friend and most valued person in life. Okay?”

Randall winced and felt his shoulders quickly tense up.

“Everything?” Randall asked.

“Everything,” replied Henry.

And so the tears started to spill out from Randall now, and after years of it all, the words finally came free from his mouth.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so very much for reading! Constructive criticism is welcome and I appreciate any and every comment I get! I am unsure if I am going to make this a multichapter work or leave it as is.


End file.
